


Running on Empty

by Kien Rugastelo (cein)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cein/pseuds/Kien%20Rugastelo
Summary: Stranded at an alien star port with a dead ship and half a crew, Jim accepts the Vulcans' offer to jump ship in exchange for some assistance converting their engines to run on a more widely-used fuel. But when a ship powered by The Three is reduced to only one, dozens of lightyears away from Federation territory, the journey home becomes something none of them had bargained for.
Exert: That didn't sound like one of Scotty's infamous miracles. “There's got to be something else you can do,” Jim insisted, even though he knew it was futile. If they were a Starfleet crew on a Starfleet ship, they would have had someone racing to their aid by now. But as it was, they were a merchant ship—an independent one at that—and while that gave them a lot more freedom than those Starfleet officers had, that also meant something that pushed all the air from Jim's gut— 
They were alone.





	1. Chapter 1

James T Kirk knew by the tilt of Scotty's head as he popped up from the conduit that the news he was about to receive was not what he wanted to hear. “It's no use, sir, she's finished.”

Jim ran a hand down his face. It was worse than he'd feared. “There's nothing you can do to salvage her?”

Scotty's grim smile looked like an apology. “Forcing the antimatter into the impulse engines was a great idea, sir. It saved our lives out there. But there's no way I can salvage the warp drive now, to say nothing for the impulse power.”

Scotty wasn't saying anything Jim hadn't already been expecting. What had started out as a standard trade run to Breen space for refrigeration units had ended in a surprise attack by Tzenkethi raiders—an attack that cost them the lives of Hikaru Sulu and Pavel Chekov when a hole was punched in the weapons bay. With their cargo destroyed and down a third of their crew, they'd barely had the resources to charter a tow to the nearest space port, still much too far away from Federation space for their liking. Jim kept a tight grip on his frustration. “Options, Mr Scott?”

Scotty let out a slow breath in a way that reminded Jim of Bones steeling himself to give a grim prognosis. “We can sell her for parts to pay our docking fees.”

That didn't sound like one of Scotty's infamous miracles. “There's got to be something else you can do,” Jim insisted, even though he knew it was futile. If they were a Starfleet crew on a Starfleet ship, they would have had someone racing to their aid by now. But as it was, they were a merchant ship—an independent one at that—and while that gave them a lot more freedom than those Starfleet officers had, that also meant something that pushed all the air from Jim's gut—

They were alone.

“I'm sorry, sir,” and Scotty did sound sorry, though Jim thought he didn't have a need. Jim had been the one who had ignored his second-in-command's instincts and took them out to Breen space in the first place, “but I'm never gonna get her moving again—not without replacing the entire propulsion system—unless you wanna try to limp all the way back to the Federation on our thrusters.”

Jim knew without looking around the cargo bays that they had no chance of scrounging up the money for a propulsion system out here, and fighting their way out of a space port with nothing but damaged weapons and thrusters was not something he was feeling open to try. “Not exactly what I had in mind, Mr Scott.”

Scotty may have been a miracle worker, and he may have been first officer of a ship that sometimes seemed to be held together by magic and wishes, but even he knew a lost cause when he saw one. “I know, sir, but there's nothing I'm gonna be able to do to get the _Farragut_ back home.”

* * *

Leonard McCoy thought that sometimes he had too soft a spot for women asking favors. On his back and elbows deep in a communications console, he was absolutely sure of it. “Are you sure this isn't a job for an engineer?”

Uhura's chuckle floated down to him from where she was adjusting some settings topside. “You're doing fine, Doctor.”

Leonard doubted that, and he had a mild electrical burn on the tips of a few fingers he needed to treat later to prove it. “At least Scotty would have known what he was doing,” he tried not to grumble, but it was hard when he was concentrating on soldering a set of wires just so.

“Mr Scott is trying to see if he can get propulsion back online.” The light distraction in her voice suddenly vanished and Leonard almost missed the sight of her peaking beneath the panel with a soft smile almost as if to check on him. “Besides, this is delicate work and I need the steadiest hands on the ship.”

Delicate indeed, he thought as he inspected his own work, but flattery could really get Uhura anywhere. The connection seemed solid to him. Leonard pushed himself out from underneath the console and made to rise. “You getting anything?”

Uhura pressed the speaker more firmly against her ear as she continued adjusting the dials. “Nothing in Standard. We may be out of normal communications range.”

Typical, he thought as he leaned against a dead panel, crossing his arms across his chest. “How about on subspace?”

Uhura's shake of the head was little more than a twitch. “No, I haven't been able to start repairs on—” Something caught her attention and her hands flew out to hone the reception to a narrower band. There was a pause as her brows knit together and she gave the transmission a listen. “I can't believe it.”

Leonard could only hope it was good news, curiosity now piqued. “What is it?”

“Vulcans,” she exclaimed, disbelief pushing through her voice as she called up the space port's docking registry. McCoy kept quiet as she scanned the list until she found whatever it was she was looking for, the end of one thought crashing into the beginnings of the next. “There are Vulcans on this station. Uhura to Captain Kirk.”

“ _Kirk here.”_

“Captain,” the smile in Uhura's voice was contagious and Leonard's posture relaxed further as she relayed the good news, “There are Vulcans docked here at the space port.”

“ _Vulcans?_ _Aren't they a little far away from their home world?”_ Jim sounded just as surprised as Leonard had been. Vulcans were known throughout the sector as hermits bordering on xenophobic. They were almost never seen as far out as their adjacent star systems, much less outside of Federation space.

“I thought so too, sir, but I intercepted a transmission myself. They're definitely Vulcan.”

“ _How did we miss that?”_

“They're on the Surak, sir.” If Leonard didn't know any better, he would have thought she sounded a bit smug at that particular reveal.

“ _That's a bit cheeky.”_ Leonard thought it more sacrilegious. To the Vulcans, naming something as mundane as a ship after the founder of their world philosophy had to be similar to blasphemy. _“And you're sure they're actually Vulcans?”_

If Uhura was offended by the captain's doubt, it didn't show at all. “You can see for yourself, sir. They're in docking port 3.”

There was a pause as Jim seemed to weigh his options, but Leonard knew what he was going to do next. _“Thank you,_ _Uhura_ _. Kirk out.”_

* * *

Any doubts that remained in Jim's and Scotty's minds were dashed at the sight of two Vulcans inspecting the Surak right where Uhura had said they would be. Or at least, Jim assumed it was the Surak—it didn't look like any Vulcan ship he'd ever seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scotty's hand drop away from the phaser at his hip while the man himself dropped back a pace.

Bolstered by his first officer's confidence, Jim called out: “Greetings!”

True to the tales, the Vulcans did not startle, and instead turned languidly to face them. They were both deep in old age and dressed in the traditional robes. The marginally taller one spoke first. “You must be from the Federation ship.”

Jim approached until he was sure he was hovering just on the edge of appropriate distance from the Vulcans. “I'm James Kirk, Captain of the _Farragut_. This is my First Officer Montgomery Scott.”

“I am Sepek,” the taller offered with a dull wave of the hand to indicate first himself and then the other, “And my companion is called L'Vor.”

Introductions over and knowing the Vulcan's distaste for small talk, Jim launched right into his plan of attack. “I suppose news must travel fast on a station this small.”

Sepek nodded an acknowledgment. “We received word of your predicament shortly after your arrival. It was decided that we would remain here until the time came that you elected to approach us or continued on your way.”

That sounded too convenient, and Jim was always one to look a gift horse right in the mouth, eyes slipping back and forth between L'Vor and Sepek. “Aren't there usually three of you?”

“Our Third is aboard the ship—somewhere we should return to so we may discuss our proposition.” Sepek made a vague guiding motion away from the Surak.

Jim turned and let himself be led, not missing the way Scotty seemed to measure the Vulcans. At least he wasn't the only one who was skeptical. “The Surak is not your ship?”

He wasn't sure, but Jim thought he could hear a touch of distaste in Sepek's next words: “No, Kirk, it is not.”

The walk was spent in mostly silence as they made a bee line for a section of the port Jim had not yet been to, the Vulcans in the lead, Jim next, and Scotty always trailing just a little behind. Jim could hear the quiet tap-tap-tap of Scotty utilizing the text mode of his communicator, and he didn't doubt the Vulcans could hear it as well. Shortly after the Vulcan ship came into view, Scotty sped up just enough to walk side by side with him and showed him the screen. At the bottom of the running conversation with Uhura was the confirmation that the Vulcan word _Enterprise_ was a homophone of the Tholian _food-runner_ , which was why the ship had been originally overlooked. Jim wasn't even sure when Uhura had even had time to brush up on Tholian, but he was grateful for the information nonetheless.

By the time they were aboard the _Enterprise_ and settling into a conference room, Jim was feeling a little more at ease. They were not at odds, he reminded himself, and presented his question in a friendly tone. “Shouldn't your Third be present for this?”

L'Vor settled into his chair like a stone at the bottom of a hill. “One must always be resting,” he chided lightly as if reminding Kirk of this for the thousandth time.

“It is most efficient,” Sepek added with neither hesitation nor haste, “that one of us always be resting, so that one may fly and one more may assist. It is the Vulcan way. If you are concerned for the thoughts of our Third, I can assure you that Spock is in complete accordance with us in this matter.”

Mollified and having no reason to mistrust, Jim joined them at the table and Scotty followed. “And what matter is that?”

Sepek gathered his hands in front of himself. “We are aware that your ship has been severely damaged. My companions and I are open to giving you passage off this station should you require it.”

It was not the offer for assistance with repairs he had been hoping for, but Jim didn't mind keeping his options open. “What's the catch?”

Sepek only took a moment to decode the meaning behind Jim's phrase. “We are explorers, Kirk, and we are not due back in Federation space for some time. In exchange for passage and provisions, you will assist us in modifying our engines so that they may operate using an alternative fuel.”

Scotty eyed Sepek with an air of caution. “What sort of fuel are you converting to?”

Sepek looked about as puzzled as a Vulcan could get by the question. “It was our understanding that the current standard would be dilithium.”

That answer, Scotty seemed to think, was less than helpful. “Well, if you're not using dilithium, may I ask what's powering your ship now?”

“The ship is powered by the Three,” L'Vor offered, almost seeming confused by why the question even came up.

Sepek laid a gentle hand on L'Vor's shoulder, and Kirk started to wonder if perhaps there was something else going on. “Vulcan ships utilize a biological and neurotechnical system. In optimum conditions, one Vulcan can provide power to and run a ship of this size alone for up to four of your days.”

“If your ship is so efficient,” Jim asked, “Why change it?”

“L'Vor and I grow old,” Jim thought he could hear just a tinge of regret. “We will soon not be able to interface with the ship as we can now, and it would be unwise to leave the duty to Spock indefinitely. That is why we must begin modifications as soon as possible.”

“Wouldn't it be logical to return to Vulcan before you become—” Jim searched for the right word for half a beat “—incompatible?”

“Logical?” Sepek asked, as if he had not thought to consider it in that light. “Perhaps, but not desirable. Our home is here among the stars. Even if we returned and were to find suitable replacements for L'Vor and myself, I fear that by that time, it may be too late.”

That was it then, Jim thought. They'd come to almost uncharted space far away from their traditional home to die exactly where they wanted to be. A quick glance to Scotty told him the man had come to the same conclusion. “I'll have to discuss it with the crew.”

“Of course,” Sepek intoned as he rose from his chair. “Please inform us of your decision when you can. Feel free to return to our ship at any time, though we will keep our communications open if you happen to have yours repaired.”

“Oh that,” Jim said flippantly as he stood. “Our communications are working fine. _Enterprise_ happens to also be Tholian for _food-runner_. We didn't contact you before because we had no idea this would end up being a Vulcan ship.”

The dramatic lift of Sepek's eyebrow made the white lie worth it. “Indeed.”

* * *

Leonard had just finished sterilizing his fingers when the Med Bay doors swished open, and he didn't bother to turn around. “Jim, I said I'd join you in a minute. You didn't have to come fetch me.”

Jim, already used to the ship's doctor's uncanny ability to know exactly who came through those doors, just leaned against a bed. “I didn't come to get you. I actually—” Jim recognized the sound of the dermal regenerator from the hundreds of times he'd had it used on himself the instant it switched on, and it derailed his train of thought. “What happened to your hand?”

“The communications console bit me,” Leonard replied sourly and Jim knew the man was going to hold a grudge against the machine for a long time.

Not that it would matter, Jim thought as he breathed out a laugh before pushing for casual and leaning across a biobed. “Bones, what do you know about Vulcans?”

Leonard took his attention off his fingers long enough to squint in Jim's direction as if he was being led into a trap. “Are we talking medically or culturally?”

“Medically,” Jim said with a shrug, hoping to make the inquiry seem all the more off-hand.

Leonard frowned before returning his focus to healing himself. “Their blood is green, they've got pointed ears, and their organs are all in the wrong place. I'm pretty sure we had a lecture on them back at the Academy, but even _that_ was vague, considering their nearly neurotic drive to preserve their species' privacy.” He powered off the generator and tested his work by flexing his fingers. “To answer your next question, I don't know enough to be comfortable treating one.”

Jim wasn't put off by the blunt answer. “What if you had access to some technical manuals and the patient's baseline readings?”

Leonard huffed and put the regenerator down, satisfied that his fingers would continue to heal up just fine on their own, before finally turning to face Jim. “What is it, Jim? Are they sick? Don't tell me they're carrying some kind of space-mutated plague.”

“Not sick, Bones,” Jim put on his best plying smile, “old.”

Leonard waved an accusing hand in Jim's direction. “Don't think batting your eyes at me makes that any better!”

“It worked with Uhura,” Jim commented, pushing for innocent. He instantly regretted it when Leonard picked up a hypospray with more violence than was strictly necessary. “Besides, it's not like L'Vor needs to be hospitalized. I just want you to be ready to help him when the time comes.”

Instead of jabbing Jim in the neck, Leonard pressed the hypo firmly against the inside of his own forearm and injected himself with a cocktail that would promote healing and fight off any residual infectious elements. Jim thought that maybe he heard a sigh behind the slow, familiar hiss. “So that's it, then? We're abandoning the _Farragut_.”

Jim smiled and showed his hands as if that would make his evasion any more convincing. “Why do you think we're abandoning the _Farragut_?”

Leonard very nearly rolled his eyes. “You're asking me to brush up on Vulcan geriatrics, and I don't think elderly Vulcans're going to be sticking around racking up docking fees indefinitely while we try to get this ship back in order. It's not that big a leap, Jim.”

“We're meeting to discuss our options,” Jim conceding, hedging a bit as if they really did have other comparable options, “but yes, I think our best chances lie with the Vulcans.”

Leonard shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, tapping the emptied hypospray against his palm idly. “Scotty wouldn't let you consider having us jump ship unless the _Farragut_ was beyond repair,” he reasoned, more to himself than to Jim, then refocused on the captain, utterly resigned. “Alright, let's go tell Uhura.”

* * *

The matter of whether they should abandon the _Farragut_ was settled quickly and unanimously in the face of the facts: the ship was beyond their ability and resources to repair, and even if they could, the four of them didn't even meet the qualifications of a skeleton crew for that class of vessel. Coupled with the knowledge that they were unlikely to have an offer as palatable or with a people as trustworthy as a trio of Vulcans, the vote to jump ship was quickly cast.

It was the other things that hung heavily in the air: the fight between Gary Mitchell and the Captain before they'd began this trade run in the first place—the one that had Gary resigning his post and leaving the ship before they'd left Federation space, advancing Scotty to second in command by default—or Christine Chapel quitting suddenly the month before to join Starfleet, or that of the 8 they had started out with three years ago, they four were the only ones left.

“Sir,” Uhura asked as they all began to leave the room, “If we do join the Vulcans, and we do eventually get back to the Federation, what do we do then?”

Jim didn't really have an answer. “We'll figure something out.”

No one said anything to that, and they all went their separate ways to pack whatever each one chose to bring with them from their little wreck of a ship.


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard crouched on the floor of his new Med Bay, checking and double-checking his equipment for any deviations in settings or calibration, or any other sign that the trip through the transporter hadn't completely ruined his bone-knitter, just as he'd done with every other vital instrument he'd trusted to send through the thing (and a few he had carried aboard himself the old-fashioned way). He'd seen his share of transporter accidents involving both animate and inanimate matter, and the last thing any of them needed was to find out in an emergency that his medical equipment had been transmogrified into instruments of death.

Scotty's voice through the communicator sounded as though it was running out of patience. _“I promise, I put it back together just the way you gave to me.”_

“I trust you, Scotty,” Leonard asserted quietly as he activated the machine briefly, listening for any abnormalities in its normal drone and finding none, “But I don't trust transporters and I don't trust a Vulcan transporter you haven't even had a proper look at yet.”

Scotty's sigh was resigned and understanding, if a bit frustrated at Leonard for making the process twice as long as it needed to be. _“Of course, Doctor.”_

Satisfied that his bone-knitter had not been transformed into a bone-liquifier in the process of scrambling and de-scrambling the thing, Leonard placed it on the counter next to the console with everything else he needed to sterilize when this whole moving ship business was done and over with. “Alright Scotty, I'm ready for the next load.”

“ _This'll be the last of it.”_

“Acknowledged.” Leonard stood back and watched as the last of his supplies materialized before him, this time transport-stable medicines and raw material. A quick visual inventory confirmed what the engineer had promised. “It's all here. Thanks, Scotty.”

“ _No trouble at all, Doctor. Scott out.”_

Leonard moved the containers to one of the biobeds for now to run more thorough scans on after a short break, and instead activated one of the medical consoles. Their hosts had been sensible enough to switch the language on the interfaces from Vulcan to Standard, as well as most of their records, much to Leonard's relief.

At least, he hoped they were only most of the records as he set out to try to familiarize himself with his new patients' medical histories. It was either that, or Vulcans were not nearly as thorough in their record-keeping as he had been led to believe. Oh, he had some basic facts such as height, weight, vaccinations, and a history of illnesses, but there were some rudimentary things that had either not been recorded, or had been excluded from his files, be it deliberately or through neglect. He was missing things like age, body temperature, blood pressure, blood type—all the things that he needed to even begin to feel comfortable treating a species he was unfamiliar with.

If he was going to be practicing medicine on some Vulcans, he needed to get some baseline readings, and it was that fact that had him activating his communicator in a snit. “McCoy to Kirk.”

“ _Doctor!”_ Jim responded after a pause, and Leonard thought that the level of cheer in that voice was a deliberate jab at the irritated tone of his own, _“What can_ _I_ _do for you?”_

Leonard tempered his temper just a hair. “Jim, I need to see three pointed-eared patients for a physical as soon as possible.”

A bit of concern showed in Jim's reply. _“_ _Is th_ _is an_ _emergency?”_

Of course it was an emergency, Leonard thought, though he kept the words from shooting past his lips. “Only that the medical records they gave me don't contain anything you might call useful. I need to record some baseline readings and ask a few questions before we get underway.”

“ _Understood.”_ Jim was laughing at him, Leonard could just feel it. _“I'll get them down to see you_ _as soon as I can_ _. Kirk out.”_

It was clear that Jim didn't find the situation quite as urgent as he did, but Leonard just programed his tricorder for detailed scans and turned back to the containers on the biobed with a grumble. “You better.”

* * *

Jim snapped his communicator shut with a grin, knowing the transfer had to be going well if his doctor had time to be grumpy about some spotty medical records. And he would get the Vulcans down to the Med Bay—soon. He promised.

First, though, he had some questions of his own. “Sorry for the interruption,” Jim offered as he strolled back over to where Sepek and L'Vor were standing over by the ship's engines. They were pretty much like any other engines Jim had ever seen, and rated for speeds up to Warp 9 (Jim had a hunch that with Scotty's help and a bit of luck, they could push them to Warp 10). However, where he would have expected a dilithium chamber, instead there was a conduit that ran to a cylindrical tank full with a blue-tinted liquid—a tank that the Vulcans had been discussing with him before the Doctor called.

“It is no matter,” Sepek returned, “Though it seems Doctor McCoy is less than pleased on the state of our records.”

Jim was beginning to think he could like Vulcans, though he made a mental note not to forget their excellent hearing. “That's one way of putting it,” he agreed.

Sepek and L'Vor shared a glance that could have been an entire conversation for all Jim knew, and it was hardly a moment before Sepek continued. “Spock will be arriving shortly for the Changing. Please inform the Doctor that L'Vor will be seeing him momentarily and that I will follow when I can. Spock's visit will, regrettably, still be hours yet.”

“Of course,” Jim quickly tapped out a brief _“_ _L'Vor on his way, Sepek next”_ on his communicator and waited for the swift _“Good”_ in reply before addressing the Vulcans again. “So as I understand it, the ship draws power from whoever is in the chamber at the time. If that's so, then what's powering it now?”

Sepek indulged the question without giving any indication of Jim taxing his patience, and so Jim assumed the questions to be welcome. “When the ship is idle, we are able to run on reserve power. However, propulsion requires a great deal more energy than life support and basic functions.”

Jim leaned close to the tank, inspecting it as thoroughly as he could from the outside, from as many angles as possible. “I assume the fluid acts as a conductor.”

“That is correct.”

“I don't see any life support. Do you wear a rebreather while submerged?”

“The liquid is saturated with enough oxygen to satisfy Vulcan requirements.”

Startled, Jim glanced back Sepek's way. “Are you telling me you breathe this stuff?”

Sepek's nod seemed almost pious. “It was a logical development to prevent mechanical failures with breathing apparatuses from disrupting ship functions.” The door to the engine room swished open and Sepek glanced over Jim's shoulder to nod an acknowledgment at who had arrived.

Jim turned, expecting to see yet another elderly Vulcan, but instead was greeted with the sight of one much younger having a quick, quiet conversation with L'Vor as the older made to exit. If he were human, Jim would have thought he and Spock could have only been a few years apart, but with Vulcans, he could never be so sure. Spock's pace as he joined the two of them was brisk, not the same leisurely stroll Jim had begun to associate with Sepek and L'Vor, his posture rigid where the elders had begun to droop, and dressed in simple utilitarian blacks where the elders seemed to prefer the comfort of traditional robes. A Vulcan in his prime, Jim thought with no small amount of humor.

Sepek took initiative. “Spock, this man is James Kirk, who was captaining the _Farragut_. Kirk, this is our Third, Spock.”

Spock's eyebrow lifted by a degree and Jim couldn't read anything from it. “You will be joining us on our journey?”

“If you'll have me,” Jim replied lightly.

“Indeed,” came the mild, slightly dismissing reply. “Have the preparations for our departure been completed?”

This, Jim thought as he snapped open his communicator once more, is going to be fun. “Scotty, are we ready to go?”

“ _Just beamed the last of it aboard, Captain. We can leave at any time.”_

“Thank you, Scotty. Kirk out.” Jim peered back at Spock, deliberately keeping his expression soft in contrast to the stark emotionlessness of Spock's demeanor. “It seems, Mr. Spock, that the preparations for our departure have indeed been completed.”

“Then if you will excuse me,” Spock intoned, seeming completely unaffected by Jim's behavior, before separating from the pair and climbing the steps leading up to the mouth of the tank. He stripped down to shorts and an undershirt without ado or apology, folding his over-clothes for storage in the container by his side. Jim watched as he lowered himself fully into the chamber without so much as taking a bracing breath.

Spock's lungs expanded and the ship hummed with new life.

Sepek, who had been silent to allow Jim to observe the process without interruption, finally spoke up. “Come, Kirk, let us continue your tour.”

“Right,” Jim replied absently, taking a great effort to tear his attention away from the man who to all the world looked as though he was sleeping serenely as his being provided enough energy to propel the ship at tremendous speeds.

* * *

“Do you think he's really asleep in there, sir?” Scotty asked, inspecting Spock and the tank in much the same way Jim had done an hour ago. Sepek had taken his leave after setting course and running Jim through the basics of how to operate the ship, promising to return as soon as his physical was complete. Now, Scotty was being given the Jim Kirk version of the engine room tour, and Scotty was understanding enough to save his more technical questions for Sepek's return—in this case meaning almost all relevant questions, but he didn't need to tell Jim that.

“I don't think so,” Jim answered honestly. “If he were, they wouldn't need a rest period.”

“Aye, that makes sense.” They both watched Spock breathe the water like air for a few more beats. “Do you think he's aware then?”

Jim's face lit up with a lot of jest and a hint of mischief. “Maybe you should try knocking on the glass to find out.”

Scotty replied in kind, taking on a mock-serious tone. “No, my mother taught me to never tap on the glass. It disturbs the fish.” There was a beat before the both of them gave into a small fit of the giggles.

“Actually,” Uhura joined them, sparing a curious glance at Spock in the tank, “I believe Vulcans are descended from a felinid species.”

Jim prided himself that he didn't startle at her sudden arrival and beamed her way. “Glad you could join us. I was just giving Scotty the run-down.”

Uhura waved her hand vaguely. “Don't mind me, I was just seeing what all the fuss was about.”

“Well, this is it,” Jim proclaimed. “All we have to do is get it to run on dilithium instead of Vulcans. We should have it converted in no time.”

“Well, that sounds simple enough,” Jim wasn't sure, but he thought Uhura sounded just a little teasing. “What kind of energy is it using now?” she asked.

Jim thought a moment, but drew a blank, and Scotty offered no help either. “That is a question for Sepek.”

“Maybe not so simple then,” she replied, studying the tank again, more intensely this time. “How do you suppose they get around the drowning reflex?”

“And that's another question for Sepek,” Jim hedged, still not completely over seeing Spock just accept fluid instead of air with no trouble at all, “Or maybe Doctor McCoy.”

Uhura hummed a reply. “Why do you think they have to breathe it?”

That, at least, Jim had an answer for. “They designed it that way so they wouldn't have trouble if the tank's life support equipment failed.”

“Well, then why not only be partially submerged,” Uhura elaborated, “Or lay back with your face above the water?”

Scotty grinned at the ribbing Jim was receiving as he settled himself in front of an engineering console. “Are you sure you're only trained in communications?”

“It's not like there's much need for communications specialist on this ship,” Uhura joked back, accepting the jibe in the spirit it was given. “Nothing else for me to do except sit back and brush up on my Golic. I'd be bored without a hobby.”

“Hobby or no, I'll take all the help I can get with this thing,” Scotty admitted without a hint of shame.

Jim smiled, glad to see his little family was still in it together. “Good, because I think I might be out of a job here as well.”

The laughter took longer to die off this time, and it felt nice to unwind just a little. The silence stretched on comfortably for some time while Scotty busied himself at a console to brush up on the ship's specifications, and Uhura was the first to speak. “Do you know where we're headed?”

“Beta Quadrant,” Jim supplied. “We've got a good idea on the location of the stars, but the systems in this sector are mostly uncharted. Who knows? We might even find something new out here.”

* * *

Spock did not have time to announce himself as the Med Bay doors swished open and Leonard's words rushed out to greet him.

“About time you showed up,” he groused. “When I told Jim I wanted to see all three of you before we got underway, I meant I wanted to certify all three of you as fit _before_ you hooked yourselves up to the engines like a Vulcan battery!”

“My apologies,” Spock began as his eyebrows took a slow descent from the heights to which they had climbed, “Had this been communicated to me, I would have seen you before the Changing.”

Leonard sighed long, but dropped the matter in favor of heaving his complaints at their rightful target later. He pinched the skin between his eyes. “No. No, I'm sorry Spock. I've been worked up ever since they told me you were down there breathing water and I didn't even know how much oxygen your body needs to survive. I should be yelling at Jim, not you. Look, I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot so let's try this again:—” Leonard cleared his throat “—hi, I'm Leonard McCoy, your new ship's surgeon. Thank you for coming to see me when you could. How about we start with some baseline readings and go from there?”

“That would be agreeable.” Spock's hands finally unlocked themselves from behind his back, and he submitted himself to the thorough scanning and prodding of one Doctor Leonard H McCoy.

* * *

Leonard sat back and went over the readings he'd taken, comparing them to what he'd compiled on Sepek and L'Vor and the Vulcan database's recommendations of Vulcan norms while Spock sat idly on the biobed. Leonard's brows knit together. “Spock, does providing energy for the ship have any side-effects I should be aware of?”

“No,” Spock said without inflection, “It does not.”

Leonard didn't think that was very likely, but he didn't want to push his luck pursuing it. “Do you have any medical conditions I should know about?”

“None of consequence.”

Leonard regarded Spock suspiciously, but he couldn't get a solid read on the man. “Your weight's a bit on the low side. I'm going to have to recommend a heavier diet until we bring that up.”

“My readings are perfectly normal for me, Doctor, but thank you for your concern.”

“Normal?” All of Leonard's instincts lit up like a Christmas tree. “Sure you're the right shape and size for a Vulcan, but you're several kilos underweight, your nutrient levels are all off, and you're pale as a ghost. Now if you know what's causing this, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me in on it before I ask Scotty to see if he can help me pull up your records some other way.”

The short pause between the end of Leonard's tirade and Spock's response may as well have been an eternity. “You do not have access to my medical files?”

“No, Spock,” Leonard leaned forward frankly, “Your companions did not see fit to grant me access to yours—or theirs, for that matter.”

Spock turned the information over in his head faster than Leonard could probably remember his own name, but Leonard was sure that in that span of time, Spock had been considering all the variables. “I assume your medical oath also includes a corollary on patient privacy,” Spock began in the Vulcan way of asking a question by stating a fact.

Leonard nodded. “Anything you tell me in this room is strictly confidential unless it endangers you, someone else, or the ship.”

The angle of Spock's head changed incrementally and Leonard wasn't sure what that meant. “The discrepancy between my readings and standard Vulcan norms is due to the fact that I am a hybrid. I can assure you, however, that I am fit for duty and am of no danger to myself or the ship.”

Leonard kept his sigh mostly internal. It was bad enough he had two Vulcans each with one foot out the door, but the third had to be a genuine unique medical miracle on which he had no information whatsoever. He reminded himself that this was not Spock's fault (probably), and proceeded with patience. “Are you able to tell me what the other half of your biology is?”

“My genetic profile was carefully constructed to heavily favor my Vulcan ancestry,” Spock replied without missing a beat.

“In other words, you don't know either,” Leonard surmised with a small frown. He would have been happier if the Vulcans really had just contracted some kind of space-mutated plague instead of having something like this thrown at him. “Just to be on the safe side, I'd like you to come see me before your turn in the tank tomorrow so I can compare your readings before a swim to these and make sure you aren't being affected.”

“That would seem to be a logical approach.” Leonard wasn't sure if Vulcans were capable of sarcasm, but if their hybrids were, Spock's flat tone was almost certainly it.

“And don't think I'm singling you out, either,” Leonard continued, not losing any steam. “I've told Sepek and L'Vor to visit me after their turns in the tank so I can compare their readings as well.”

Spock's nod was barely visible. “Of course, Doctor.”

“And see if you can't get me access to some of your files, Spock. It's amazing that you even exist, and I don't want to screw that up if you get in some kind of accident.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“And I still want you to get your weight up.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

Leonard leaned back easily now, feeling some relaxation creep into his bones at the sight of a cooperative patient. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Spock.”


End file.
